


Rest Easy

by J_D_McCormick



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, IT Chapter 2
Genre: 1990 Did It Better, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Fuck Canon We Fic Like Men, Gen, M/M, Mourning, Sort Of, i didnt like the ending and i refuse to leave Eddie in Its lair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 21:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20628041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_D_McCormick/pseuds/J_D_McCormick
Summary: But at least, he thinks, as they pass by old shopfronts, by boarded windows and closed up doors, they all got out of there. Perhaps not all alive, certainly not all in one piece, each missing pieces of their heart or soul or mind – but at least none of them are trapped down there in darkness eternal, rotting away alongside a dark rotten building and a dark rotten entity.





	Rest Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the film on Wednesday and I was Very Mad that they left Eddie down in Its lair rather than carrying him out of there. Especially after having the Richie/Eddie connection, and then not giving Richie any of the closure that getting Eddie out and burying him properly would have provided. Like? Sorry boys.
> 
> SO I wrote my own version of the ending. Also made it slightly more Reddie so, sue me.

Hands grab at Richie’s arms, tug at his shoulders, pull him stumbling back until he wrenches himself desperately from their grip. All around him, the cave is crumbling, rock and debris falling everywhere, and everyone is yelling for him to  _ move, Richie, come on, leave him, we can’t help him _ \- But Richie will not let them drag him away. Not without Eddie.

“We’ve got to go!” Beverly presses him, pleading, panicked, desperate. Her eyes are wide and wild, bright auburn hair plastered across her forehead. “This place is collapsing, we have to go, Richie.”

“I am not leaving him here!” Richie screams back at her. He reaches forward, pulls Eddie’s weight towards him – limp, unmoving, _ dead _ – and hoists him up. He’s heavier than he seems like he should be, the little shit, but Richie manages to get him situated, half cradled in his arms, half slung over his shoulder.

Ben and Bill grab at him, shove him ahead of them and keep prodding and pushing at him to keep him up to speed. There’s a few times that he almost stumbles, Eddie’s extra weight making him front-heavy, but his friends’ hands steady him and keep him going onwards. Through the jagged rocks of the cavern, up into the damp echoing sewers, through the whole winding place until they come out of the drain in the Barrens, Bill and Mike and Bev and Ben help him, their hands helping him lift Eddie, helping him steady himself, guiding him out. He feels like his whole fucking body is jello, like he’s nothing but a stick man, propped up in the wind; he’s hollow, and there’s an ugly bleeding hole torn inside his chest – but his friends are there, all around him, helping him.

They come to a breathless stop in the creek, panting and doubled from the desperate sprint from the sewers. Richie collapses down to his knees in the water, feeling numb and empty with shock, the weight of Eddie’s body still in his arms the only thing tethering him to Earth.  _ You’ll float too _ It said, and god, he  _ hates _ It, so fucking much. It ruined his summer, and It ruined his childhood, and It’s gone and ruined the rest of his life, too.

For a few minutes they just stop there, still and catching their breath. They all stare at the drain, waiting – to see if It will follow them, one last time, if It’s truly dead or playing some trick on them.

But no. It’s dead. He saw it, felt it – remembers the sickening squish of Its heart in his hands, the weak cries and the burning-out lights. It’s dead.

But god, did It have to take Eddie with it?

“Let’s… Let’s go, guys.” Bill murmurs, and it’s not a stutter, just a lull. He places a hand on Richie’s shoulder, the one that isn’t pillowing Eddie’s head. “Do you need help, Richie?”

“I’ve got him.” Richie says quietly. He doesn’t want anyone to take Eddie away from him yet – doesn’t want to let him out of his arms. Just wants to hold him, a little longer.

_ I loved you, Richie. _ Eddie had said, eyes bright and wet and smiling. And Richie’s throat had clogged, and his vision blurred, and he hadn’t managed to say anything at all. But Eddie’s eyes, they said that he knew. That he knew Richie loved him too. And if Richie couldn’t say it, couldn’t open his loud mouth for once and just say a few words, then at least he can show Eddie. Even if he’s dead, even if he’s not really there anymore, he can hold him gently and keep him close and give him the care he deserves.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get to his feet with Eddie in his arms – but again come the silent hands of his friends, steadying, supporting, guiding him, until he’s stood. He nods quietly to them in thanks, and they all filter after each other, following the stream.

Just like before, they end up at the quarry. It’s just as it always has been, perhaps a little more overgrown, perhaps a little less stagnant. The pebble beach disappears down into the blue-green water, and Richie watches Beverly toe off her shoes and go padding out into the water. She pauses, smiles, then takes a diving pose and jumps out into the deeper waters. Richie remembers when they all dived after her from the cliff, no-one willing to be out-done by a girl, all splashing and laughing in the water.

One by one, they follow after her. Richie hesitates at the edge of the water, watching as Ben grins and splashes water over Bev’s head. Bill takes a breath, disappears under the water for a moment, and then resurfaces, shaking water out of his hair. He looks over to Richie and smiles – gentle and sad.

“Come on in, Richie. Water’s great.” He says. Richie stays uncertain on the shore for a moment, before gently laying Eddie down. He wonders if this is the same shore they all sunbathed on that summer. Eddie had stayed out of the sun and lectured them all, but had pressed his hands to the warm rocks to soak up their heat.

He leaves Eddie there to wade out into the water, dipping himself below the surface for a moment as Bill had. The water is cool and feels clean against his skin, washing away the muck and grime and sweat of the worst day of his life. He’s glad for it, can see that they all are, as they rub water over their faces, as they splash it over themselves and each other. Despite everything, the weight feels like it begins to lift as each bit of grime is removed from their skin, and they find themselves playfully dunking each other, shouting out and smiling like they’re twelve years old all over again.

There are holes, though. Stan, who would have ganged up with Bill to dunk Richie or Beverly, laughing that way he only ever did with them; Eddie, who would have gone on about all the potential bacteria, about how dirty the water probably was, but would have still grinned and laughed and kicked waves of water in Bill or Mike’s face. As they stay there, those holes feel slowly larger.

Richie wades his way back over to the beach where he’d lain Eddie’s body. He starts to scoop water and gently wash it over his face, cleaning the blood and dirt from it. He cleans Eddie’s hands as well, rubs at the dirty strands of his hair until he looks a little more like himself – put-together, neat and tidy, ever meticulous. Beneath the dirt, Richie can see just how pale Eddie is now; where he’s always been a little pale, with smatterings of freckles from the few times the sun has been allowed to catch his skin, now there is an ashen grey tone to it, from where his blood has all spilled out from his chest.

“He’d be telling us off, right about now.” Beverly says softly, gazing over at them. “About this.”

“About cleaning ourselves in dirty water?” Bill asks, a smile in his voice. Beverly laughs.

“Yes. Going on about how we’d get  _ Streptococcal _ -something.” She agrees, nodding.

“Looking out for us.” Richie adds, tone a little far away as he gently pats Eddie’s hair into order. He’s looking down at Eddie, but can’t really see him – his eyes are too blurred with tears for that. When he blinks, the tears splash down onto the cracked lenses of his glasses. He thinks he might be shaking, but he can’t quite tell. “He was always looking out for us.”

It’s the last straw, the last bit of weighted memory he can take, and Richie feels something in him snap and shatter as he starts to sob loudly. He can’t help it. All these years, his memories of Derry fading and forgotten – his memories of  _ Eddie _ forgotten – and now, he gets them back and loses them all in one day. Three days ago, he’d forgotten Eddie Kaspbrak even existed, and now, he remembers them growing up together, every day they played, every place in this godforsaken little town they’d explored, remembers Eddie’s smile and his laugh and that crease he got in his brow when he was worried, remembers how dear to him this boy had been to him, how he’d carved their initials at the kissing bridge because even if he couldn’t admit it to the others or to Eddie he’d had to admit it to himself, eventually… He remembers the bright life that was Eddie, and he got that brightness back, just for a moment, just for a day. And now he’s gone. All of that, all of the things he remembers – they’re gone. Snuffed out like a candle, doused out in blood.

He feels Beverly hugging at his arm first; he takes a shuddering breath, and there is Bill, pressed at his back with his arms around his shoulders; Mike grips at him gently, and Ben hugs around them all, and they all huddle together in silent solace as Richie cries and shakes and grieves. Their own wake, a small thing, a quiet thing, that only they share – only they, the remaining five from a once-lucky seven, could ever understand the true weight, the true meaning, of this death. Only they can understand the sacrifice made by a truly brave friend, and can give a true thanks for it.

In those long moments, quiet save for Richie crying his eyes out because he just can’t stop – in those moments, he knows each of them hold Eddie in their mind, cradle him like a delicate bird, and then release him, pushing him upwards, hoping all in unison that if there is a better place to go after this, that Eddie will get there. That if nothing else, his soul can rest peacefully, like an everlasting dream that is soft and comforting, knowing that they are all safe from It, that they succeeded in fulfilling that promise they made 27 years ago.

And perhaps now, he has to think of some way to explain this death, to people who will never believe that they have faced an ageless, eldritch monstrosity that has been feeding on this town for centuries; perhaps now, he has to decide if he will take care of funeral arrangements, or if he will hand those over to his wife – good lord, his wife, Eddie’s  _ wife _ , some woman he married who he spoke about in brief, with no passion and no fondness, with that look in his eye that he had when he spoke of his mother. Perhaps now he has to face that reality, that follows them outside of Derry, where they all have lives separate from each other.

But at least, he thinks, as they pass by old shopfronts, by boarded windows and closed up doors, they all got out of there. Perhaps not all alive, certainly not all in one piece, each missing pieces of their heart or soul or mind – but at least none of them are trapped down there in darkness eternal, rotting away alongside a dark rotten building and a dark rotten entity. At least, he decides, as they look at their reflections and each see seven figures, empty spaces filled in memory, 12-year-old smiles bright and crooked and laughing, none of them have to be buried here in Derry, where the ground itself is cursed, and the people there are cold.

At least, he sighs, as he deepens the marks of his carving, makes the R and the E stand out as if fresh and new, he can be sure Eddie will rest easily.

And perhaps, one day, he can rest beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope at least some of you liked it! Feedback and comments always appreciated, especially since this is a slightly different style to my usual writing, and I'm curious as to how well it works and what people think of it. I think my horror style is much more rambling and train-of-thought so, let me know! Thanks for reading.


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